by Saranya Rai
SARANYA RAI
LOVE, TAKE TWO
PENGUIN BOOKS
CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PENGUIN BOOKS
LOVE, TAKE TWO
Saranya Rai spent most of her impressionable childhood binge-watching Hindi serials, reading romance novels despite her mother’s warnings and absorbing everything Bollywood through film magazines, late-night talk shows, the radio and, later, the Internet. She is now a reasonably well-adjusted adult, still heavily invested in pop culture.
To my fellow fangirls of Heroes, Heroines and Happily-Ever-After’s
1
In an uncertain century, in a rough land, the village of Takht Hazara nurtured a young man called Dheedo Ranjha. He’d never been very good at learning the scriptures or calculating sums of money. He was easily distracted from the arduous task of reaping golden-hued wheat from the fields. But there was one thing he was skilled at. He could create music like no one else in the district with his wood-hewn flute. When his shapely fingers played along the worn indentations of his instrument, every child in the village stopped to listen. He could coax magic through its hollow body.
But his flute could not soften the tempers of his older brothers and their wives. They resented his idle ways and carefree days. And more than that, they resented how their old father kept time to the honeyed notes of his songs. So, the day was not entirely unexpected when his brothers each demanded a greater share of the land—the land they’d cultivated and looked after while he wandered the hills with his flute. Dheedo Ranjha had pride and his family knew it. They had counted on it.
‘We don’t grudge looking after our brother,’ the eldest said. ‘We will continue to do so. He needs us.’
‘Of course,’ the next one agreed. ‘This is just a matter of clearing everything up while there is still time. You’re getting old, father.’
But Dheedo announced, ‘A Ranjha can look after himself,’ his bearing rigid and frozen. ‘I do not depend on anyone’s mercy. Give them what they want, father.’
Father sighed, knowing his youngest son’s stubbornness. ‘And what will you do if I give away everything to your brothers?’
‘I will travel.’
‘Who with?’
‘With my flute.’
And he set out the day after, with only a change of clothes and his father’s reluctant farewell.
~
‘I’m going to kill him.’
Engrossed in the movie they’d decided on watching, Jahan Malek did not appear to be perturbed by this heated declaration.
‘I’m going to destroy his stupid tabloid.’
Jahan hmmed in response, his eyes still riveted on the action on the massive screen in front of them.
‘I’m going to bribe the help to put itching powder in all his underwear and cut off his Internet.’
At this, Jahan turned. ‘That’s fucking evil. And going way too far.’
Vikram Behl flashed his best diabolical grin at his friend. ‘You know he’s declared war.’
‘Honestly, Vicky, it’s not that big a deal. This is going to blow over like everything else. Try not to say or do anything stupid for a few days and no one’s even going to remember this interview, forget bring it up.’
‘Easy for you to say, golden boy. You’re not the one fielding panicked calls from your PR manager, head of legal, and a barrage of hateful messages on every social-media platform known to man. Ever since your “critically acclaimed” performance in Guzara, the press loves you.’
‘Why do you have an account on every social-media platform known to man?’ asked Jahan, ignoring the remark about his performance, which had had all the major publications in Bollywood raving not only about his acting but also his hard-earned abs.
Vicky jumped up and began pacing the perimeter of his plush home theatre. The lounge had been designed to minimize distractions from the film-viewing experience, but its dark-wood-panelled walls and cream-shag-carpeted floors were obviously doing nothing to help Vicky’s agitation. His worn tee was damp with perspiration and stretched tight over broad shoulders. Moreover, he’d run his hand so many times through his precious hair that it fell in a limp mess around his narrow face. He had been growing it out for his role as Ranjha in Sudarshana Samarth’s latest venture. Apart from the tired locks, he looked every bit the part—tall, slim and well-muscled. The sharp, angular features of his face came together to form a charming but somewhat goofy countenance, which was perfectly suited to playing the carefree flautist from the well-known fable of Heer–Ranjha.
‘Vicky . . . Look, calm down. I know things are rough right now but the world has bigger problems than some airhead actor who said he was sleeping with his hairdresser, only to have it denied completely by said hairdresser.’
‘I said nothing of the sort! He asked me if I was seeing anyone and I said my most intimate relationship at the moment is with my hairdresser! That does not mean I’m sleeping with her; it was a bloody joke and you know it!’
Jahan collapsed with laughter, sinking farther into the massive cappuccino-coloured couch while Vicky glared at him as he stood up and shut the door of the mini-fridge in the far corner.
‘I’m glad you find this funny, at least.’
‘How could I not? Only you, Vick, I swear to God, manage to get into these absurd situations. You know what Bhaskar Joshi’s like. What possessed you to even agree to this interview, forget trying to crack a joke that leaves so much room for damage?’
Clutching a bottle of water, Vicky returned to the couch.
‘For the last time, Sudarshana and her marketing team thought it would be a good way to stir some early excitement about Ranjha Ranjha before we begin shooting! I was just trying to liven things up in that snooze fest of an interview.’
‘Ah, man, let it go. The stress is terrible for your looks and Sudarshana’s going to be madder at that than anything else. You know how she comments when you show up with dark circles and lank hair.’
Vicky immediately dropped the hand he’d been running through his hair. ‘That’s the last thing I need. Fuck, I have to stop avoiding Sudarshana too,’ he groaned.
Jahan, who had stopped laughing with considerable effort, covered his face and began shaking again. ‘What are you, a teenager who hasn’t done his homework? Just what do you think she’s going to say to you?’ he managed to get out between fits of laughter.
‘You know what she’s like! She’s not going to say much, she’s just going to be all Disappointed with a capital D. I don’t think my parents guilt-trip me to this extent. I’ve ignored two calls already and said I’ll call back as soon as I have a moment. I can’t put it off much longer.’
‘Just get it over with! Even Sudarshana can’t blame you for more than a slightly loose tongue! It was hardly your fault that Joshi published the article and managed to get an outraged denial from your hairdresser all before you realized what was happening. Colossal bad luck, man.’
‘You think I don’t know? To top it off, Karen’s contract expired last week and the fact that I’m not renewing it has just added fuel to fire. Everyone’s convinced I’ve fired her because of this mess and nothing Karen or I say makes the slightest difference. She wanted to take a sabbatical! But is anyone listening? And I bet she won’t ever come back to me after this.’
‘I get a faint feeling that you’re equal
parts upset about losing Karen as a hairdresser as you are about the more firmly attached tharki label to your rep.’
‘If your hairdresser had Karen’s way with hair, you would be too,’ Vicky said with feeling.
‘Aha mera raja beta, I do feel for your first-world problems. If you’re so upset about the Joshi article, why don’t you sue him for libel?’
‘Are you nuts? The last thing I want is to get tangled up in a court case that may not even stand. You know how the fucker deals in insinuation and half-statements. No, I swear I’m going to get back at Joshi one of these days. In my own way.’
‘Your vigilante tone scares me. Also, you’re clearly not even trying to watch this movie any more so let’s call it a night, and you can stew in peace.’
‘Yeah, this movie was a terrible choice for tonight. Ek toh my life is falling apart, and udhar Orson Welles is going to die any minute. The least you can do is show me some sympathy, Jay.’
‘Just to be clear, sympathy because people think you’re a chauvinist playboy, sympathy because you’ve possibly permanently lost your talented hairdresser, or sympathy because Orson Welles is going to die in a movie you’ve only been pretending to watch?’
Vicky didn’t dignify this question with a response, returning to the problem at hand. ‘Argh, I’m going to have to call Sudarshana first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘When do you leave for Hyderabad?’
‘Thursday, for twelve weeks. Then another six weeks here, in Mumbai. Then, we break for almost a month while Kritika finishes post-production on Satyam Shivam Sundaram. Finally, we wrap up outdoor in Igatpuri in the new year.’
‘Achha, what’s it like working with Kritika waise? I’ve heard she’s nice enough but really anal about sticking to the script.’
‘I . . . honestly have no idea. We’ve met for some readings and look tests, obviously, but for the most part, our dialect training and workshops have happened separately. Yeah, she seemed all right. Super hot, obviously, but you and the whole world knows that.’
Jahan raised his eyebrows. ‘I recommend you not go there. Word is she doesn’t fraternize with the likes of you, especially after her last public break-up.’
Vicky immediately sat up straight. ‘Likes of me? What is that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with me?’
‘Meaning you wealthy, well-connected types. She is understandably wary after the shit that went down with Raunak Rajput.’
‘But I’m not a star-kid! Does it even count if your dad has some friends in the industry? I’m like . . . like . . . Pluto. Trying hard to be a planet but disowned by the solar system. Nowhere on the same page as Raunak.’
Jahan bore the look of a long-suffering martyr.
‘Whatever, man. Kritika won’t touch you and your stupid metaphors with a barge pole. Except on screen, one hopes. Otherwise, these are going to be a few awkward months.’
‘Are you daring me to charm Kritika?’
‘No, this isn’t She’s All That, desi Freddie Prinze Jr! I’m just making a general observation. Kritika Vadukut is out of your league.’
The look of patent disbelief on Vicky’s face did not reassure Jahan.
~
Kritika Vadukut was doing her best to pay attention to her best friend and personal stylist Meher Patel’s instructions on casual outfit combos and accessories, but it had been a long day. She kept zoning out while making appropriate noises of interest and agreement. Unfortunately, Meher was familiar with this tactic and also knew how to counteract.
‘And no matter what, you will absolutely not wear them with those capris.’
‘Hmm.’
‘No, you know what, I’m taking the capris out. You’ll do without them for two months because I don’t trust you with them.’
‘Okay.’
‘That shirt reminds me, Joan Baez is kind of overrated, no?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Kahan Bob Dylan, kahan Joan Baez, right?’
‘Yea—wait what? Are you kidding me? What are you saying? Have you ever heard Joan Baez sing?’
Meher threw a pack of cotton pads at her friend’s face which she caught, as always, with unerring hand–eye coordination—a result of all the badminton Kritika had played growing up.
‘Arre? I was listening, I swear.’
‘No, you’re mooning while I’m trying to help you plan and pack for the next two months since I won’t be around and you don’t trust your own instincts. Pay attention, Kriti.’
Kriti flopped down on her bed, amid the mountain of clothes, ignoring agitated squeaks from Meher’s assistant who had been folding discarded clothing and packing approved outfits into a suitcase.
‘Ugh, I’m tired, Meher. Let’s just finish up and I’ll call you if I get really stuck in Hyderabad.’
‘No, you will not. You will become impatient if I don’t answer on the first ring and decide to do your own thing, and then spend hours pulling at your clothes and feeling uncertain. Later, you’ll go to pieces over the snarky comments some wannabe fashion blogger will make. I know you. And you think you’re the only one who is tired? Risha woke up before dawn to begin prep for the shoot we had in the afternoon, which we’ve been at all day. So, shut it and cooperate.’
Kriti sat up, pulling a crushed silk skirt out from underneath her and tried to smoothen the wrinkles with her fingers. She offered Risha a look of abject remorse. ‘I’m sorry, Risha. I’m a meanie and you two can go home. I’ll . . . I’ll do the rest myself. No, really.’
Risha snorted, taking the skirt from Kriti’s hands. ‘Your sacrificial-naari moments should be restricted to your movies. It would be more helpful if you went and sat in that chair and let me deal with your clothes.’
Kriti complied, muttering darkly under her breath.
‘Uff! Say it out loud, you’ll feel better.’
‘I was just saying ki you and Risha deserve each other. I bet Risha likes waking up at 4 a.m. to terrorize the rest of your underlings while you sit on your throne, waiting to send them to your dungeons for every dropped stitch and improperly pressed sleeve.’
‘Yeah, if only my life was as colourful as your imagination. I spent two hours at the workshop last night getting chewing gum off a hideously expensive sharara. I can guarantee Shahzad did it but how a four-year-old got his grubby hands on chewing gum or how he even got near that sharara are both questions I can’t answer.’
Kriti hooted with laughter. ‘Shahzad was probably wished into being by the collective tears of every one of your interns.’
‘Shettup, you don’t know anything. The twits I must put up with. Thank fucking god for Risha, who keeps me from having a coronary every day.’ Meher gestured distractedly at the foot of Kriti’s bed where the woman in question was patiently taking in a seam. ‘Two days ago, this boy I’d definitely been apprehensive about hiring almost washed a slight lipstick smear off a silk brocade jacket from the Avanti collection. With water.’
There was a dramatic gasp from Kriti while Risha snorted again. ‘Please, you were not apprehensive about hiring Nikhil. You weren’t even there. And that boy is as distracted as they come. How he has the grades he does I’ll never know. Forgets three out of any five given instructions and then looks so remorseful, you barely have the heart to scold. Thankfully, his internship is almost over.’
Meher passed a critical eye over the seam Risha had been working on. ‘Kriti, my love, I don’t think we can tighten the bodice any more. Not without ruining the cut. I think it’s time to retire that dress.’
Kriti immediately sat up straight, throwing a beseeching look at Meher. ‘You know I love that dress. I bought it with—’
‘—your first film pay cheque, yes, I know. But you were also around five kilos heavier. A very crucial five kilos, where that bust is concerned. Let it go. Or wear it only where you’re positive no camera will get at you. Meaning, in your bathroom with the lights switched off.’
With enviable grace for a person so tall, Kriti pushed herself out of
the squishy armchair, walked over to Risha, and twitched the emerald green number out of her hands. ‘I refuse to listen to your prejudices. This dress is comfortable and the colour is great for me.’ At a slender 5'9", Kriti had the frame to pull off the boxy cut of the embroidered shift dress which complimented her long sun-kissed hair and bronzed skin.
‘Yes, those are both true but the fit . . . Oh, screw it. I refuse to have this argument again. Get yourself a more padded bra and be done with it. It won’t be perfect but I’ll send something appropriate over early tomorrow.’
Kriti returned to her chair, victorious and dimpling her thanks at Meher.
A harried Meher rolled her eyes. ‘I swear Kriti, if you didn’t look so good in my clothes, I’d have sent you to the devil at least five years ago. Smiling your way into bad decisions . . . ’
‘Achha, speaking of charming fuckers, no offence, Kriti, have you seen what your newest co-star has been up to?’ Risha asked.
Meher stopped rifling through Kriti’s closet and looked at Risha with interest. ‘No, do tell.’
‘Buzz is he was having an affair with his hairdresser—you know Karen Andrade? He pretty much said so to Bhaskar Joshi in a Star Glitz interview. But then, Karen issued a very ineffective denial. She’s probably worried about her rep. And then Joshi also found out that Karen had been fired around the same time. It’s unclear whether Vicky Behl fired her for denying their relationship or whether she denied the relationship because he’d decided to call it quits. Either way, Vicky is in a bit of hot water with the media and audiences right now. Typical.’
‘Your addiction to film gossip is ridiculous given that you know first-hand how much of it is pure fabrication,’ Kriti said severely. ‘I’m sure Vicky’s not clueless enough to tell Bhaskar Joshi the salacious details of his life, even if he was sleeping with Karen.’
‘Uh . . . Are you serious? We’re talking about the man who actually told the truth about which contemporary actresses he fantasized about, on a talk show on national television. And who accepted a dare to wear a glittery princess crown to his own birthday party with all the paps present. I wouldn’t bet my life on the amount of discretion Vicky Behl has. He just gets away with shit because of his brazen confidence.’
